


I Need To Explain

by reddottedpaper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 07:36:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14327691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddottedpaper/pseuds/reddottedpaper
Summary: Sherlock has a very rare need to explain his actions.





	I Need To Explain

**Author's Note:**

> I thought the dynamic between Sherlock and Molly was very interesting and I was dying to explore it a bit more. I hope I did the characters justice and I hope you will enjoy this little moment between them.

The doorbell rang and Molly put down her book and walked over to the entrance to her flat. With a weak swing, she opened the door and saw Sherlock standing in front of her.

He looked so himself, with his big black coat with the collar pulled up, his purple shirt underneath a black suit, black dress shoes. His dark hair curled into rings around his ears and forehead and his bright eyes pierced confidently right through her. But something was different, something about those hollows under his cheekbones and the wrinkles around his eyes made him look so tired and worn out and it made Molly hold her breath without realizing it.

Her hands gripped the door and she snuggled up to it without realizing it, her gaze left his face and started to shyly followed the pattern on her doormat. Sherlock looked startled, seeing her looking away in fear, his arm weakly sprang up towards her as if to assure and comfort her.

"Sherlock," Molly whispered, she didn't mean to whisper.

"Sherlock," she tried again and spoke louder this time, after clearing her throat. She straightened her back and looked at him, trying to keep her face stern, "Hi."

Those blue eyes of his quickly blinked away his confusion and he gave her a slight smile, his hands out of his pockets and clearly aching for some purpose as he nervously kept gripping them into fists.

"Hello, Molly."

She wished hearing his voice didn't please her as much as it did. She wished his deep voice didn't warm up her chest and make her feel so buzzing and relaxed. But his voice did all of that. Sherlock always did that to her. She shyly smiled back and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, she hid behind her door as she opened it more, revealing more of her flat.

"Um, come in. Come in."

There was the Molly that Sherlock knew, that everybody knew, always so kind and polite, even when she was clearly in distress. Sherlock had always been great at reading clues and signs, he could know the killer from the state of the victim's body, but he could not read people's emotions. Or understand them. He'd always lacked tact and empathy, as John liked to remind him. Sherlock could glance at people and know what they had for breakfast that morning but he could never deduce how they felt. He often made people embarrassed or angry but he could never care less. Never had the need to explain himself, after all, it was most of the time entirely their fault that they felt affected by somebody else's words.

But now he stood in front of Molly and he could see that the heating at Bart's was broken, she had started to use a new brand of shampoo and that she'd been eating biscuits just before she opened the door for him and none of those information were telling him how she felt. And yet he knew. He noticed the sadness in her eyes and how her whole body winced when she saw him. He knew that Molly felt confused and mad and much more and he knew that he was the reason to all of that. And for maybe the first time in his life, he felt the need to explain himself to her. Because he felt guilt. Because he was sorry.

He gently nodded his head and with a half mouth smile walked past her inside her flat. Molly closed the door behind him and hugged herself in her colorful jumper. She felt her heartbeats picking up at pace.

God, so many emotions were battling inside of her. She was so mad, so mad at him. Why did he make her say those words? Why did he say them as well? Why did she believe him? They sounded so true. So core-shaking true and yet, she knew they couldn't be. It was an experiment, he told her. For a case. And then she found out about the flat at Baker Street blowing up. There were rumors about Sherlock with John and Mycroft being in a hospital, everything was so hush hush, nobody told her anything. She was so confused and so worried. For her friends. For him. She forgave him the moment she heard they were all okay. She always forgave. And even when somewhere inside of her she wanted to feel bitter and strong and to make Sherlock feel sorry for all her pain, she couldn't bring herself to do it. So she stood up straight, her arms around herself protectively and she looked the detective in the eye, nervously tugging on her own sleeve.

For a few moments they just stood there, looking at each other. She almost found it funny that Sherlock looked like he didn't know what to say. He was Mr. Punchline. He always knew what to say. And yet he stood there, looking his confident and usual self but with his eyes lost and swimming hopelessly in an unknown ocean just like hers did.

"Molly, I'm here to-"

"I'm glad you're okay."

She interrupted him and he let her, watching her with pleading eyes as she gave him a kind smile, nervously looking away after a while. She spoke so gently, always, fast and sweet sentences by a voice he knew so well from the morgue and the lab at Bart's. He just watched her. 

"Sherlock, if this is because of what happened, don't worry about it," she watched her floor and gestured with her hands, kept that smile on her face as she met his eyes again.

He wondered if she was smiling to assure him or for herself. He was at a loss of words, watching her patiently dealing with him because she knew that he couldn't do this. He didn't know how to. Molly knew him. They knew each other for a long time and she knew him, his genius and his triumphs and victories as well as his lack of understanding for social norms and empathy. After all, she was at the recieving end of his unintentionally hurtful remarks more often than not. Yet, she developed a crush on him. Yet, she always helped him with his cases. She offered her help when he most needed it. She dragged him back to his feet after he was so low and down, high only on drugs. She loved him. And he loved her.

For him, she always counted. She was the voice of reason and advice, medical point of view that he respected and kept in his mind palace. Sherlock valued their friendship just as he valued John, Mrs. Hudson, Mary, Mycroft, Lestrade. She was a part of the small circle of friends he had. People he considered important, people he cared about, a small club that was maybe the most exclusive club in the whole word. And Sherlock protected people he cared about. His friends were his family. He would do everything possible and impossible to protect them from harm. But when he harmed one of them himself, he felt as if he had failed. He felt terrible guilt and he needed to accept the responsibility and apologize. Because whatever little conscience Sherlock Holmes had, it was growing bigger and bigger and it would swallow him whole and beat him into a pulp if he didn't face the circumstances of what he did to Molly.

"Forgive me, Molly."

His breath hitched and he looked away, only to realize what a coward thing that was to do and looked back at Molly, who was now staring at him with those big brown eyes, frozen in place. He decided to take the opportunity and kept talking.

"What happened at Sherrinford, my sister that I didn't even know I have until four days ago, all of _that_. It shouldn't have involved you, Molly. Eurus had me, John and Mycroft go through this test she put together. She was testing us, testing me. She wanted to put me to my limits, she wanted me to feel pain, to go through hell."

He was looking to nowhere in particular, explaining his story with his hands in the air when he stopped himself for a second. He looked at Molly and half expected her to stop him, to say that she didn't want to hear it because surely, she had already heard it from John or Lestrade, or she simply didn't care. But she was listening to him intently, eyes wide open, lips slightly apart. He slowly lowered his hands to be in front of him, reaching for her slightly and looked her in the eyes.

"There was a coffin," he swallowed hard, his eyes still held her gaze and he made sure his voice stayed strong, "A coffin for someone who loves me."

He watched Molly as she blinked a few times and looked away, blush creeping up to her cheeks, "There isn't many people who can stand me just talking. There's even fewer who could love me." 

At that Molly weakly smiled but her lips quickly slid back to the tense expression before. Sherlock felt happy to see that small smile on her face, he made sure to talk slowly, his eyes focused on her.

"The coffin was for you, Molly. It was you. You love me," he said, breathless, watching her.

Molly's heart missed a beat as she stared at Sherlock, the color drained from her face.

"My sister planted cameras in your flat, we watched you. You were making tea. She said that if I don't make you say that you love me, she will blow up your flat. That I will be the one who put you in that coffin, because I failed. My failure would've caused you to die," he was blunt, speaking fast.

"She called your phone from mine and gave me three minutes as a time limit. You know the rest. Molly, I know I've hurt you. I just want you to know _why_ I did it. I am sorry. Forgive me," he choked a little, "Forgive me, Molly."

At first Molly worriedly looked around her flat for the cameras but then she froze, she stayed in the same awe struck position, her expression the same, just her eyes darted from Sherlock's left eye to the right one and back. His sister had used her as a leverage on Sherlock. Because she knew that Sherlock cared for her.

"Eurus wanted me to go through hell. I thought I had won against her when I'd made you say it but she said I didn't. And she was right. I didn't win, Molly. She was bluffing, there were no bombs in your flat. I'd hurt you. You're one of the very few people whom I trust, I've trusted you before with my life and I would trust you again. You've always counted, Molly. And I'd hurt you and I am very sorry. I do not want to lose you. You're important. To me."

Sherlock started to stumble over his own words. Molly watched him, letting his voice settle down in her brain.

She knew that Sherlock cared for her. She also knew that he couldn't love her in the way she did. And making her say all of that out loud, it hurt her heart, even more so when he had said it back, making her believe it. He did it for her. He was worried for her life. Now that she remembers, she could hear his distress when he made the call, just couldn't recognize it. He thought he was saving her life. And now he's standing here in her flat, apologizing, saying out loud things that she never thought she'd hear Sherlock Holmes say.

She looked into his eyes and saw the plead in them, the effort it took him to come here, to face the mess he'd made. Sherlock did things he wasn't used to for her. He had apologized to her before, like he almost never did to anyone. He had come to her for help when nobody trusted him and he had trusted her with his secret of faking his death. He'd asked her to solve crimes with him, as he only ever did with John. And he'd wished for her to be happy, had given her a kiss on the cheek that she always cherished in her memories.

"Sherlock," she said silently, not meeting his gaze, "when you said it-said it first-did, did you mean it?"

His face turned solemn as he looked at her from his height. His hand reached out and he gently took her chin, lifting it up so she was looking at him. Her cheeks burned red and her eyes were wide open. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, scared that he would run her over. That he would crush her heart once more, and Sherlock didn't know which answer to her question would be more painful, if he said yes or if he said no. But he knew which answer was truthful. And he knew that this wasn't a moment when he should lie.

"I did, Molly. I meant it."

The weight of her head was so light on his hand, yet Molly felt the touch of his hand as an anchor. Her whole body wanted to shake from excitement and confusion and she felt her heart racing, but the touch of Sherlock's hand and his gentle order to look at him made her calm. She looked surprised. She didn't know how to react or what to think.

"I love you, Molly. With the heart that many people think I don't even have."

Molly started to come back to her senses and he saw the corners of her lips turn up in a weak smile as she listened to him. He smiled back.

"But you can't be with me. Not in the way I want to," she finished his thought.

Sherlock took a step closer and hugged her face with his hands. Molly was this time looking into his eyes, her hand found his and held it gently, not dodging sheepishly away. She knew what he meant to say. She understood. She learned to see through his bullshit like not many people did. And she understood the words he sometimes couldn't say.

"I can't."

She smiled at him with her lips pressed tight together, her cheeks showing dimples. A tear escaped her eyes and Sherlock looked startled all of sudden, watching it run down her cheek. His hands opened up as if he wanted to catch it.

"No, don't cry. Wait."

She laughed and wiped it away, rested his hands back on her face.

"It's okay. Don't worry."

Sherlock seemed to calm down, trusting her answer while his eyes stayed worried. He exhaled and watched the little stars Molly had in her eyes.

"This isn't really my area, Molly."

"I know, Sherlock. You don't have to explain yourself."

"No. I need to," he stroked her cheek with a thumb and pressed himself closer.

"Molly, I am not fit for a relationship that you want. I can't be the boyfriend you want. I am sorry."

"I understand," she breathed.

"I value our friendship more than you think. Your input in my cases, your happy demeanor, your ridiculous sweaters and shirts, even those slaps you've given me."

Molly chuckled and Sherlock looked at her like he meant all of those things and was surprised what's so funny.

"I understand if you cannot forgive me. But you are my favourite pathologist and it would take too much effort and time to find someone who could live up to your high experience and intelligence. And patience."

She couldn't wipe the smile off her face so she wiped away another tear and took hold of Sherlock's hands.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock."

"You're not?" he asked breathlessly, Molly heard a relief in his voice.

"No, you genius. Didn't you already deduce it before you came here?" she glowed with a wide smile and he let go of her to let her free.

"No. Honestly, I had zero clue about how this was going to work out. I just, I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry," he caught her glance with a serious expression. 

"Will you forgive me, Molly?"

"Yes, Sherlock. I forgive you."

And she knew she did. She did way before he came here. She forgave him in the moment she heard he was okay and away from Sherrinford. But he came to her personally and he apologized. Sherlock Holmes declared his love to her and Molly Hooper felt her heart beating happy and warm. She knew that he couldn't be with her. He never could. Sherlock was married to his work and he loved what he did with passion. He engulfed himself with dangerous and exciting and restless cases that a romantic relationship could never keep up with. But what she and Sherlock had, their friendship, was something that nobody else could possibly give her.

No other man would ever live up to Sherlock Holmes, with his ridiculous perfectly ruffled black hair, those cheekbones that screamed "sexy" at her everytime he was in the room, his straight posture, his elegant suits and shirts that he wore to the lab just to stare into a microscope, his deep voice that made her chest vibrate and buzz with excitement, the amazing wit he possessed, his genius that made her stare at him in amazement so many times. He was like a dream that she kept chasing and waking up way too happy after having every night. She would never catch it. But she had something better, she knew. She had his trust, his friendship, his respect. She was a person who made Sherlock Holmes apologize, a person who slapped that aristocratic handsome face and he let her. And he wanted her by his side, he wanted her help. And Molly knew that being by his side was more than enough. That she would always take him to the morque and help him with his cases, she would help him with his experiments and visit the flat at Baker street to tell him the results. Pick up the phone at 2 in the morning when he needed to share his genius ideas or crash at her flat. She would always be there. She would always be his friend. Even when she couldn't have him, the consulting detective, she could still be happy with someone else. But Molly firmly knew that she would never leave Sherlock's side. 

He looked so relieved when she forgave him. A look that she recognized from the many times at the lab when he'd just found another clue or realized something about a case. Sherlock gave her a smile and exhaled deeply, as if a heavy burden fell from his shoulders. Molly blushed as she realized for how long was Sherlock actually holding her face and how warm his hands were. She smiled with her lips pressed tight together and took a shy step back.

"So, Molly. Even when your taste in men is highly questionable, considering one of them was a serial killer criminal mastermind, and one of them was _meat dagger_ ," he made sure to say the last part a bit louder and rolled his eyes at her and she looked half angry and half embarrassed for poor Tom, even after all that time, "would you consider having with one of them dinner?"

"Dinner?" Molly looked at him in surprise, taken back.

Sherlock pulled his hands from his pockets, holding in each a bag of chips, he raised his eyebrows at her, "Chips?"

"Oh, you bastard. You knew I would forgive you!"

"I honestly and deeply hoped so," he threw her a packet and turned around on his heel, walking into her living room.

Molly sighed deeply and smiled as she opened up the bag and tossed a chip in her mouth, following him.


End file.
